


Licorice Snaps and Phoenix Tears

by elumish



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish
Summary: Severus hates Albus’s office.





	Licorice Snaps and Phoenix Tears

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by lupinlaughed's tags on [this post](http://lupinlaughed.tumblr.com/post/161374995256).

Severus hates Albus’s office.

It’s too cheerful, too warm, too Hufflepuff. For some bizarre reason that Severus has never been able to figure out, Albus enjoys playing the old doddering grandfather. The most powerful man in the world, the only man the Dark Lord ever feared, and he pretends to be soft and warm and friendly.

Worse still, he _is_ soft, warm, and friendly.

His office is just a representation of that, all warm colors and magical bric-a-brac and _candy._ Severus always feels like a blot of ink, and he stands out there, which he abhors with all of his heart. He was a spy. He is meant for shadows and dark corners and the Slytherin dungeon, not warmth and cheer.

He paces the office, waiting for Albus to appear, moving as much to keep his damn phoenix from taking up a nest in his hair as any true agitation. The fucking bird likes preening his hair, and just being near it relaxes him. A dangerous thing, for him. A loss of control.

He doesn’t like the bird for the same reason he refuses to drink. A relaxed spy—like an inebriated one—is a dead spy.

Severus is passing by Albus’s desk when he feels a sharp pain in his finger, and, resigned, he looks down to find out of Albus’s fucking licorice snap chomping on his finger. Because of fucking course. This is really what this day needs.

He’s ready to squish the thing—or perhaps hex it off his finger—when Albus’s cheerful voice announces, “Ah, Severus. If I had known you would indulge, I would have put out something with a bit less bite.”

Fuck.

Severus considers biting the damn thing off his finger, but no, that would just imply to Albus that he _wants_ to eat the wriggling piece of sugar, so instead he pulls out his wand and sets it on fire. The smell of burnt sugar fills the office, and he feels a sharp burning pain in his finger. It’s nothing new, though; burns are nearly daily when one is a Potion’s brewer, even a Potion’s master.

Before he can heal his finger, though, the _fucking cheerful colorful peaceful_ phoenix lands on his shoulder, pulling some of the tension from his muscles even as a single drip falls from it and lands perfectly on his finger.

“It would be more useful if you would cry into a vial,” he tells the bird, and he sounds grumpy even to himself. The bird just nuzzles his cheek, and he feels a little bit of his rigid angry tension fading into softness. He can’t even make himself angry enough to shake the bird off his shoulder, not even when it starts preening his hair.

Albus smiles at him, walking around to sit behind his desk. “I am always so glad to see how well the two of you get along.”

“We don’t get along,” Severus tries to snap, though his voice is lacking the bite he wants to put in it. “Your bird just hasn’t gotten the notice.”

The phoenix chirps in his ear as Albus says, “Ah, but Fawkes isn’t my bird. He just agrees to keep me company, sometimes.” He gestures towards his chair, and Severus is relaxed enough to actually sit. “So, shall we talk?”


End file.
